


we're okay

by Pond_Melody



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5814046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pond_Melody/pseuds/Pond_Melody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When William Brandt worried, he didn't just worry.</p><p>He got really, really fucking salty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're okay

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how much sense this actually makes, but it was a little scene that popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone until it was written. I also needed to give this ship some love. I hope you enjoy!

The first thing that Benji became aware of was weight on his chest, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of that. The weight was warm, and not necessarily uncomfortable, but it was—well, it was there. It was there and he couldn't identify it. He knew he should have been able to identify pain, though, and he wasn't sure whether to be pleased or concerned about its total absence. If he had the energy, he would try to sit up, or at least wiggle his fingers. He quickly found that he didn't, and decided to focus on opening his eyes.

Blinding light greeted them immediately upon opening, and he quickly squeezed them shut again. After taking a minute to recover, Benji slowly cracked his eyes open again, one after the other, easing himself into awareness. He was met by the same bright, white light, but this time he was able to make out his surroundings: white walls and a white tile ceiling.

_Am I dead?_

“Not dead,” came a mumble from next to his head, “just stupid.” Benji blinked, because he'd said that out loud? It occurred to him secondarily that he probably should have been startled by a voice in his ear, but frankly, he didn't have it in him. He wondered briefly if the voice was in his head, but the feeling of warm breath against his neck dismissed that idea immediately. A quick flick of the eyes showed Benji the source of the weight and warmth on his body: An arm was thrown across his chest. A tanned, muscular arm that Benji was sure he knew very well.

“Will?” He said, wincing at the scratchiness of his voice. He hoped, at least, that he didn't sound as muddled as he felt. Another glance downward revealed that his hands were both bandaged, information that he noted and stored for future reference.

“Benji.” Will's voice was flat, almost cold, and Benji waited because two could play that game. After about a minute and a half of silence, however, he gave in. “S'not fair. 'Least tell me _why_ 'm stupid.”

Another moment of silence. Benji started to wonder if he was being ignored or if he was imagining this after all, when—

“You don't remember.”

Benji was pretty sure it was supposed to be a question, but he couldn't be sure, and couldn't bring himself to care. He blinked hard and swallowed down the pain rising in his chest, because something was wrong here. Something had happened and Will was not okay. “'Fraid not,” he said, turning his head, hoping to meet Will's eyes. They were closed, much to his dismay, but he could see that Will was sporting a purple bruise high on his left cheekbone, a bandage on his forehead, bags under his eyes, and an almost-stubbly jaw. “How long?”

“Not long,” Will said. “Day and a half. Maybe two.”

"Ethan and Jane?”

“Fine.”

Benji nodded minutely; his injuries, whatever they were, weren't causing him pain and he was afraid that would change if he moved too much. The burning in his chest, though, was another story. Will only ever shut down like this after botched missions, and if his short, flat responses were any indication, the last one had gone to hell. Benji couldn't ignore the niggling feeling that, whatever had gone wrong back there, it was his fault.

The thing was that he couldn't _remember_ , and he hated himself for it.

He closed his eyes and exhaled in order to steady himself. “I'm sorry, Will,” he said sincerely, even if he didn't know what he was sorry for. He felt the body against his shift and opened his eyes, watching as Will lifted his head, propped himself up on the arm that wasn't wrapped around Benji, and proceeded to stare at him.

“You don't even know what you did, do you?”

“I fucked up the mission.”

Will barked a laugh at that, a sound that was choked and ugly and not genuine, but not quite fake either. Benji wanted to cry. This was just cruel. “You think I'm upset about that?”

Benji knitted his eyebrows together, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “'Scuse me?”

Will sighed. “You—first of all, Benji, you didn't fuck up the mission. If anything, you saved it. Saved us.” He shifted again, dropping his head back to the pillow, his forehead inches away from the side of Benji's face, just as he'd been when Benji woke up. “I don't know how much you remember, but...well, long story short, the power needed to be cut and you cut it. Fried yourself in the process.”

 _Of course._ Realization dawned on Benji, and he wanted to smack himself for not figuring this out sooner. Benji discovered early on in their relationship that Will didn't process his emotions like a healthy grown man. It wasn't that he didn't try, but well, he didn't quite know how to, wasn't very adept with emotional matters in general. Benji had seen Will scared for his loved ones before, except to Will, fear meant anger, yelling and pacing and basically losing his shit. As proud as he was of his boyfriend for all the progress he'd made since the start of their relationship, old habits did die hard. No, when William Brandt worried, he did not simply worry.

He got really, really fucking salty.

Salty _and_ protective, if the tightening of the arm around Benji's rib cage was any indication. He winced, not in pain, but concern. For all his emotional ineptitude, Will was not an easy man to shake. Nobody knew this better than Benji, and yet, here they were.

“You weren't at the rendezvous point. When we found you lying on the floor in the electrical room, you weren't breathing,” Will said quietly.

“I am now,” Benji reminded him gently, his hand finding its way to his boyfriend's hair. Will shuddered and Benji's heart ached for his boyfriend; he'd seen Will extremely worse for wear, but never—

“You were dead, Benji!” He hadn't shouted, he never shouted at him, but his words were sharp and Benji couldn't keep from flinching at them.

“You were dead, you were _fucking dead_ and I couldn't—couldn't—,” he tried, but his voice cracked, and suddenly he couldn't breathe because he was on his knees in the control room holding Benji's limp body in his arms, and Ethan was springing into action as Jane pulled him away because _He needs medical attention, Brandt,_ and he was watching, paralyzed, as Benji lay motionless under the hands that were trying to resuscitate him, and _Breathe, Benji, Jesus Christ you have to breathe,_ and the love of his life was dead and he'd let it happen, was watching it happen, he—

Will's train of thought short-circuited when warm, cracked lips pressed themselves to his, and all of sudden he was still in the electrical room, but it was different now. He didn't think he'd ever forget the look on Ethan's face when Benji finally coughed, after an electric shock had been delivered to his heart via an AED that Will had no memory of anyone finding, but evidently someone did find it and now Benji was coughing and who'd ever had the nerve to say that miracles didn't exist?

 _You're okay, you're okay now,_ he remembered murmuring, rubbing Benji's chest lightly as he sat with him in the back of an ambulance.

Will leaned into the kiss hesitantly, mindful of the fact that his partner was still lying on his back in a hospital bed. The kiss was easy rather than urgent, but still contained every bit of love and passion Benji could muster and left them both breathless when it was over. As they studied each other's faces, Will eyed the nasal cannula that Benji was currently sporting and resisted the urge to kiss him back hard. He settled instead for a peck to the other man's lips, after which Benji hummed happily.

“You can't do that again, not ever. Do you understand?” Will asked, his voice rough but devoid of all sharpness. He lifted the arm that was draped across Benji's rib cage to stroke his cheek instead, his thumb running lightly over the plastic tube. Benji covered Will's hand with his own bandaged one and sighed. This wasn't the first time either of them had cried at the other's bedside, and it wouldn't be the last.

“Never again,” he promised. They both knew better than that, but as Benji felt the remaining tension leak out of Will's body, he decided it wouldn't hurt to pretend for just a little while.

Will, to his credit, knew exactly what Benji was thinking as he made that promise because he was thinking the same thing. It took him less than a second to decide he didn't care, though, because Benji was breathing and warm and _alive_ , they both were, and nothing could really hurt very much as long as they had that.


End file.
